


living beauty

by emphemeron



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emphemeron/pseuds/emphemeron
Summary: Everyone who knows him knows that Stiles has a lot to say.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 17
Kudos: 283





	living beauty

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to get this out my drafts.

Everyone who knows him knows that Stiles has a lot to say.

In this moment, however, he’s speechless, expunged of his way with words by a force that completely destabilizes him. It throws him back into the motion of his own body; it wrenches him from the lightness that talking grants him only to surround him from all sides. Instead, his own words are stamped out by the sheer physicality of being present in his body, in feeling every slide of skin against skin and the sensations that bloom in his chest at each touch, threatening to spill over (into what?). He breathes harshly into the open air, his mouth agape, pink tongue laving over pink lips.

The snatches of words he does pick up between the thunderous sounds of his own heartbeats are faint but intoxicating, melting into his center like butter. He feels similarly cleaved. The way Derek presses forward insistently with every thrust has Stiles struggling to keep his eyes open, but Derek’s presence demands his undivided attention, draws it out of him with every word.

“Come on, keep those eyes on me,” Derek grunts, moving in again like a wave, jolting Stiles into wild motion, his back arching off the couch and hands clenching into fists above his head where Derek has his wrists tight in the grip of one hand. He grins when Stiles shudders so. “ _That’s it_ —that’s right, baby, arch into it. Love it when you get like this.”

The rut is mind numbing. They’ve been at it forever—both this and all past and subsequent times, which bleed into a river of static shock in Stiles’ memory—and the heat has only built in Stiles to a nearly unbearable degree. The stretch in his legs from being drawn around Derek’s waist has long since dissipated, along with the earlier frantic energy—the initial furious need that skirted behind Derek’s eyes when Stiles had come home that evening, the burning press of those big hands into the small of his back, pulling him in closer to the slick slide of their lips and the pressure of Derek’s teeth on his ear. Now, with his heels comfortably resting against the dimples over Derek’s ass, the pace is glacial, slowing as the gleam behind Derek’s eyes brightens.

Even looking at Derek like this could get him going. He’s stretched out over Stiles’ receptive body, down on his elbows so that their lips slide together with every thrust. He bites them sometimes, draws Stiles’ bottom lip so lushly into his hot mouth, reddening it to later stare at with hooded eyes, making hips stutter in double time. Stiles has nowhere to go, open like this, his belly bared to the man over him, their nipples even tagging against each other every so often—Derek looks similarly wrecked, his breathing coming out in halted gasps against Stiles’ neck.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” Derek whispers harshly into Stiles’ ear, “could fucking watch you like this all the time. So beautiful all the time, but then stuff you full of cock and _god_ —” he thrusts sharply into Stiles, pressing his dick against that spot that has Stiles gasping senselessly, “you burn me up. Stiles, _god_.”

“Derek, I—you’ve got to—” Stiles gasps, turning his head to press his face into his own bicep, face heating up when Derek goes back to the teasing rhythm of before, never getting him any closer. He’s not ashamed, but Stiles can never seem to say the words when they’re like this—he’s comfortable in abstracts, in patterns just outside his reach, but this is all theory in motion. This is Derek in bright, shimmering lights above him, his body a solid that touches his body. When he puts his teeth against him, Stiles expands into something that can't get close enough.

Derek’s answering smirk boils his blood in an entirely different way. “What is it? You can’t get there today, baby?” He somehow gets even closer to him, weighing heavily over Stiles’ body and trapping his dick between their bellies, barely pulling back now. He grinds in so slowly, licking at the beads of sweat building in Stiles’ clavicle. “My cock not enough for you?”

“I just need to—I can’t—please just touch it, please, I can’t—”

True to form, Derek stops moving altogether. He holds himself close, pressing soft, sucking kisses into Stiles’ neck and shoulders, fingers stroking at the supple skin of his wrists. Stiles seethes, shattering back into his skin from Derek’s teasing.

“Is there any reason you’re taking the opportunity to _fuck around_ —”

“I thought we were already fucking around,” Derek murmurs, lingering for a few more seconds on the skin of Stiles’ neck before sitting up, putting his hands back on Stiles’ hips. Relaxing his fingers and bringing his hands back down to his chest, Stiles takes a second to run his eyes up and down his lover’s—he blushes at the thought, that he has someone who he calls his lover and it’s _Derek_ , with his wide shoulders and big heart, his eyes that go soft when he pulls back to look at Stiles’ face—heavily breathing body.

His chest, covered in soft hair that sets Stiles’ blood on fire when he both looks and touches it, heaves as he catches his breath, the grin on his face relaxed and easy in a way that Derek had never been able to find before. It makes Stiles’ heart jump to see that effortless smile aimed down at him, knowing he put it there. There’s nothing like it in the world—Derek’s happiness is like the sun, and Stiles wants to follow it forever, wants to wake up to it, _burns_ in its long overdue radiance (there really is nothing like it). He wants to empty out everything that he is into it and tend to its light like a Vestal.

When Derek suddenly pulls out of him, Stiles gasps, clenching down on nothing and then blushes even harder. Derek doesn't even give him a moment to run his mouth off—and it’s right there, Stiles always on the verge of snapping, of crackling like a roaring fire and getting in hot water—just moves down Stiles’ body to briefly kiss and lick down his stomach before getting up and personal with his dick. He moves into it with his whole body when Derek wraps those plush lips around the head. The heat is bone-deep now, sizzling under his skin when Derek slides his lips up and down the length of it, only pulling of briefly to lick down to Stiles’ balls, curling his tongue around them.

“Oh-oh-ohh- _oh my god_ ,” Stiles cries out into the open air above him, trembling in his need to thrust up and his abject refusal to answer that need. Derek smirks up at him, eyes animal-hungry. He pulls his mouth off, traces two fingers up Stiles’ cock where it rests curved against his stomach.

“You’re so hot for it,” he murmurs, voice so gentle like a croon, and Stiles vehemently denies the groan that escapes him at Derek’s tone. “Balls so tight, but you can’t get there, huh, love? What do you need? What can I give you, baby?” He punctuates the question with a full mouth kiss to the base of Stiles’ cock like he’s in love with it, wrapping his hand around it and thumbing the head. Stiles groans and shakes his head against the arm of the couch.

“I need you to do _something now_ or I’ll go get it somewhere else from someone who will—”

It’s always worth it to tease Derek like that and this time is no exception. He pulls himself back up, nostrils flared in his the-fuck-you-won’t expression. Stiles doesn’t make these teasing threats lightly, knows when it won’t provoke the animal simmering beneath Derek’s skin. However, contrary to Stiles’ expectations, Derek doesn’t push himself back into Stiles, but rather hooks his hands under Stiles’ biceps, hefting him up until they’re pressed together again, only Derek’s strength keeping them there. There’s no action or movement for a while, just Derek’s eyes locked on Stiles’, their breaths sharing the same space, the roughness of Derek’s touch belied by the reverence his whole body shows Stiles’. The moment is expansive, intimate in a way that Derek fucking him isn’t even.

“Okay, baby,” Derek breathes, pulling both of them off the couch until they’re standing before it, their bodies slick against each other. “You’re going to go upstairs and wait for me on the bed. Got it?”

Standing, Stiles is barely an inch or two shorter than him, but Derek’s body seems to loom over him anyway, all wide shoulders and thick thighs. The way his eyes stay angled on Stiles’ mouth serves to make Stiles feel closed in on—not hunted but long caught. Toyed with. He licks his lips and shivers when Derek’s eyes follow the motion, his pupils blown out.

Despite the directive, Stiles can’t seem to find the will to move, so charged with lust for the man pressed against him that all he can do is stand there dragging his fingers down Derek’s stomach, feeling at the muscles there. He knows his eyes must be just as heated. It’s only when Derek’s fingers—still wrapped around his waist, nearly touching at the small of his back—clench warningly that Stiles breaks away, turning and heading up the staircase outside the living room without looking back.

Their bed is more inviting than he remembers it being, and Stiles climbs onto it slowly on his hands and knees, luxuriating in the soft give of the mattress under his tender limbs. He stretches out onto the comforter, opening his mouth to exhale shakily when his body relaxes into it. His body is still hot-hot from being fucked, his skin almost swimming over him in how disjointed and frustrated he still feels, ever on the edge of an orgasm that just eludes him. Derek is probably still downstairs with that smirk on his face like he knows exactly what state he put Stiles in, and Stiles seethes silently.

He presses his groin down into the plushness of the duvet, rolling his hips and rutting into the fabric. The pressure and texture against his dick has his vision blurring, his lashes fluttering against the skin under his eyes; he’s not able to get much friction in the lazy grind, too restless to do more than twitch and shake into the bedding, but he reaches behind at the same time to touch delicately at his hole, testing at the tenderness of the skin there. Stiles groans right through the jolt of pleasure that slithers up his spine, pressing in deeper with his finger into the place where Derek just made room for himself. He’s tender inside, not sore but still slick with lube and burning hot. He’s so hot for it.

He doesn’t hear exactly when Derek enters the room or even when Derek places a knee on the mattress beside his foot, too intent on feeling out that space inside him, cramming in two fingers up to the knuckle. He does, however, feel it when Derek wraps a hand around his ankle, caressing the skin of his Achilles’ heel so delicately that Stiles flinches, almost pulls his fingers out from inside of him. Derek stops him with his other hand though, pressing on Stiles’ fingers with his own until Stiles is slowly thrusting them in and out.

“Couldn’t wait for me, huh, pup?” Derek chuckles, bending down to kiss the back of Stiles’ knee, dragging his lips up the sparsely furred limb until he nuzzles into the skin on the inside of Stiles’ thigh. He teethes lightly at the sensitive flesh there, drawing it into his mouth and sucking hard—his thighs will be mottled, covered in darkening bites when this is over if Derek has his way. It’s one of the biggest tells to Derek’s more-than human nature, the preternatural part that demands proofs and yielding, wants to get his teeth into Stiles’ flesh and _hold_.

“You’re really taking your time today,” Stiles sighs, spreading his legs unconsciously as Derek climbs up further onto the bed. “You think I’m just going to lie here and wait?”

“I’m sorry, baby—” it’s so insincere that Stiles grins into the covers. “I’ll take care of you, no more teasing.”

He blankets Stiles’ body, one of his hands coming up to take Stiles by the chin, turning his head to the side to catch his lips. It’s achingly intimate and still floods Stiles with lust when Derek’s lips press roughly against him, teeth clacking together. The slide of Derek’s hirsute chest against the slightly tacky, sweaty skin of Stiles’ back is equally intoxicating, the weight of his lover pressing him down from every corner. Stiles can’t shake off the need; at all hours of the day his mind is firing off, his body one long, unbent beam of light that struggles into form. But in an instant, Derek brings him back down to his bones.

With his other hand, Derek grips Stiles at the hip, pressing up with his thumb and down with his fingers until Stiles’ back arches into the press of his groin, connecting them at all points except for the dip of Stiles’ spine. Even there the air is hot, warmth radiating from both their bodies until the sweat beads and slips down Stiles’ tailbone. All of this is punctuated by Derek’s tongue slipping into his mouth, so wet it engulfs him.

When Derek pulls back, the shockingly alive glare of his Alpha stares down at Stiles, eyes vivid with their otherworldliness. In this way, their coupling feels mythologized even in the act. Stiles can’t help the way his stomach jumps at the flicker of danger behind Derek’s eyes; there’s no world now where Derek’s supernatural nature isn’t wholly interwoven into the desire that blooms in Stiles’ body in his presence.

“Do you need more slick, baby?” He murmurs in that soft, soothing voice of his that’s so characteristic of him in these moments where the totality of his being seems to converge on the desire to rend Stiles into a form recognizable only to him. In the beat of silence, Stiles pants out something reminiscent to a _no_ , fingers still wet with the proof of that.

“Come on then,” Derek urges, the words sharp against Stiles’ ear, “reach down and put it back inside you.” He rolls his hips against Stiles’ ass, the line of his dick slotting between Stiles’ thighs, brushing up against his balls.

Stiles blushes to the roots of his hair, his whole chest probably splotchy with it too. He reaches behind him with the hand that isn’t clenched into the sheets beside his head to wrap his fingers around Derek’s slicked up cock, his heart jumping at the feel of the hot flesh in his hand like every time is more real than the last. He barely has to do anything, just holds Derek’s dick and repositions it until it’s pressing intimately against his hole.

Derek doesn’t push in all the way right away, but takes a few moments to test the give, pressing just the tip into the plush clutch of Stiles’ body. It never gets old. It never fails to turn him inside out. Like all times, Stiles’ voice catches on a whimper or a whine, eyes fogging up with the pleasure of it. Derek grunts into the crook of his neck and huffs out a breath, teasing them both with the careful, not-enough grind of his hips so slowly into Stiles. His breathing is so equally ragged, in and out like he too is used and unused to this feeling.

When he does finally bottom out, thick thighs pressed into Stiles’ tight thighs, they both gasp out. Derek takes a minute to savor it and really luxuriate in the proximity of their bodies, Stiles can only imagine, kissing a burning line up Stiles’ neck—soft, sucking kisses into the sweaty skin that his lips barely rise from, merely dragging up and up until they’re at the curve of his jaw. Stiles breathes out more harshly, hips twitching back against Derek’s and hands clenching into the sheets by his ribs.

“C’mon, c’mon, please—”

He’s mainly speaking into the bedding, his words muffled as his lips catch on the duvet. Immediately, Derek sits back up on his haunches, leaving one last sucking kiss on the back of Stiles’ neck before some of the pressure is lifted off Stiles’ body. Stiles misses it nearly as immediately, needs to be held down and give some kind of weight before he vibrates right out of his skin. Derek’s hands come to his waist instead, big fingers holding him in place while the man gets comfortable behind him.

Just when Stiles is about to whine again for Derek to _move_ , the crack of a palm against his skin registers before the accompanying sting; Derek’s right hand doesn’t move from its place on Stiles’ ass after the quick swat, digging into the meat of it a little before smoothing his hand down into the crease of Stiles’ inner thigh, palming where it suits him and spreading his legs out a little further. The stretch on his inner thighs is a burn and a gift.

“You’ll get it—exactly the way I give it to you.” His words are punctuated by the first few thrusts into Stiles and then his hands return to Stiles’ waist before really setting into motion.

The return to rut is initially staccato, but quickly falls back into their old rhythm. It is all a burn and a gift; Stiles is alive in it, reveling in the thickness spearing him again and again. There is nothing like the warm, wet ache; he feels it from the inside out and _wants it_ , wants it always.

Stiles can do little more than shake and drool into the bed, burning up from the inside as Derek props himself up onto a foot to give it to him even rougher. His body’s being dragged back with the motion as Derek pulls his hips in again and again.

“You think you’re _ever_ —going to get fucked like this—by _anyone else_ —” Derek pants as he jackhammers into Stiles and squeezes his waist. If Stiles were to look back now, he’s sure the scarlet eyes of his Alpha would be locked on his neck, where his skin is splattered red with bites and kisses, fangs flirting at his lower lips. The thought makes him quake, makes him boil even hotter at the idea that the man behind him is equally unraveling down to his essentials. That he is recreating someone from his flesh.

Stiles is emboldened into his own brazen idiocy. “I could—someone else might want a— _ahh_ —a piece of this.”

Not even hesitating for a moment, Derek slides forward again and drags one of his hands from Stiles’ waist, up his chest, and to the base of his throat, holding there before hauling Stiles up with the other hand still on his waist. Stiles flails as he’s pull up onto his shins, both hands grabbing Derek’s forearm, which presses up the line of his chest. The hand on his throat is gentle, almost lax, just fitting around the shape of Stiles’ throat like a reminder.

“Who wouldn’t want to get their cock wet in this tight little hole?” Derek growls into Stiles’ ear, his thumb lifting off Stiles’ throat for a moment to pull at his bottom lip, “or this hot mouth?”

He breathes hot and heavy into Stiles’ ear, cock rubbing tantalizingly up inside Stiles’ while the hand on his waist slides down and across to curl around his dick. “Haven’t been able to stop wanting it. Want it every fucking _day_ like this. Want to wake up with this cute mouth on my dick—put my mouth on yours, _fuck_.”

Stiles feels mindless in the slow drag of it, the rhythm of Derek’s hips against his own, the insistent press of Derek’s cock into his ass. “Want it, Derek—want it, please, _please_ —”

“Yeah, you can have it, baby,” Derek hisses, fucking into Stiles with renewed urgency, hand pulling at Stiles’ cock with a similar rhythm. Stiles feels himself shuddering with each thrust, Derek’s arm across his chest the only reason he’s rooted in place. “You can have anything you want—just need you to stay fucking _still_ so I can give it to you.”

It’s always so much, so vibrant and real to have Derek behind him like this, the scruff of his beard prickling against Stiles’ sweaty, hot skin as Derek mouths again at the crease between his shoulder and neck. His big hands are still locked in place, one curled around Stiles’ cock and the other holding his throat, still gently but unmistakably. He feels massive behind Stiles, big chest pressing against the leanness of Stiles’ back as he almost curls over him trying to get his cock in deeper, brushing up against a spot inside that jolts hot fire up Stiles’ spine.

“You want my knot, honey?” Derek breathes, slowing his hips down until he’s barely grinding in, the beginnings of his knot catching on Stiles’ rim.

Stiles can’t even respond properly, just whines in what he hopes sounds something like affirmation and pushes back, one of his hands coming behind him to squeeze Derek’s thigh. The hand on his neck moves away momentarily to play at Stiles’ nipples, thumb rubbing over them hard for a few seconds before the right is pinched between the pads of Derek’s fingers. Stiles wishes he could turn around somehow, get Derek’s mouth on them, feel him suckle at the tender nub; he wants to put his own mouth on Derek’s nipples, have Derek hold him to his chest by the back of his head, put him where he wants him.

Every time he wants everything that Derek is willing to give and every time it’s a shock to realize how deep the need runs.

The knot pushes insistently against his rim as Derek pumps his hips a few more times before plugging fully inside. It takes the breath out of him—the sudden pressure, the way Derek goes shock still behind him with his fingers pressing tightly to Stiles’ neck, the way his own orgasm hits him so suddenly that he feels inverted. He feels taken right out of his skin, only Derek’s hands tethering him to a body.

Derek’s hand coaxes the orgasm out of him, even as he comes, groaning with his forehead pitched into the curve of Stiles’ shoulder. His big hand wrings it out of Stiles, pumping him straight through until he whimpers at the oversensitivity; only then does Derek let up, just grazing his fingers up and down Stiles’ cock, which is still blindingly good but at least won’t teeter beyond pleasure.

The inside of this space of beauty is deafening. He isn’t a living being separate from another living being in this moment—it is all heat simmering, reducing, vision spiraling into the livid pleasure still cresting out of him. He is everything that Derek also is in turn in this moment. It does not last forever.

“Gentle, gentle, _gentle_ —” Stiles gasps and stutters as Derek finally comes back into his skin and begins to move. The sudden activity thrusts him back into the living space of his body, and for an instant it is brutal and wretched, until Derek turns them both to their sides and tucks Stiles into his chest.

Derek’s heartbeat resonates against the skin of his back, the pounding slowly, slowly relaxing.

“Always gentle,” he whispers back, trailing fingers up to rest at his heart, thumbing at the skin. Never takes his lips away from the sweat-slick skin of Stiles’ neck.

The living beauty of it becoming a place his words can disappear into. Like he knows every time.


End file.
